


Feel It With Your Heart

by Dracoduceus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Night Terrors, Talon team as family, referenced background character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: A collection of stories and recipes from the Overcooked zine. Featuring the Shimada brothers and Team Talon having a bit of fun.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	1. We Are Both Here (Story)

**Author's Note:**

> This collection of stories is from the [Overcooked Zine](https://twitter.com/zebra_bad/status/1228940855513206785), the tragically ill-fated zine whose mods ghosted us. 
> 
> I was proud of these damn it. 
> 
> Beta'ed by the wonderful [Soap](https://twitter.com/soap_stitches).
> 
> Title based on the way that my family teaches me how to cook: you feel it with your heart. (Which is not good when you're trying to figure out how to write down a recipe damn it.)
> 
> \----
> 
> "We Are Both Here": When Hanzo wakes up in the middle of the night, consumed by nightmares, he wanders into the kitchen for something mindless to do. 
> 
> There he finds Genji and they have a heart-to-heart.

Hanzo woke like the flip of a switch, covered in a cold sweat. A moment, a deep breath, and then his limbs were once more under his own control and not strung up like the limbs of a puppet. The nebulous shadows of his room came into focus and coalesced into simple objects—a lamp, a desk, the closet door—and not a ring of disapproving faces that stared down at him.

Even though he could still feel the exhaustion digging its weighted hooks into his eyes, he knew that there would be no more restful sleep that night. If he even tried he would be back to that ring of faces, would feel the stains on his hands, would smell…

He rolled out of bed, pulled on the first thing that his fingers touched, and resigned himself to a night of wandering around the base like some kind of hungry ghost.

The speakers at the first junction crackled as he approached. “ _ Agent Shimada Hanzo. _ ”

Another unpleasant surprise: his mouth felt glued shut, his voice stolen by the ghosts of the past. Instead of responding verbally, he nodded. This was hardly the first time that the base’s AI had caught him like this.

At his nod, Athena said, “ _ Are you well tonight? _ ” Hanzo gestured to his jaw. “ _ Ah. Might I suggest the kitchen? _ ”

Once upon a time, Hanzo would have been suspicious of being herded around. Now, after spending long enough on base, Hanzo knew that Athena was only worried for him. So he nodded and made his way to the kitchen.

It was a valid suggestion and one he had reluctantly mentioned to Athena as a good distraction from the murmurs of his own dark thoughts. There were a lot of things to do there, but there was only one thing on his mind that was suitably complex yet mindless enough to keep him from drifting back off into oblivion.

He cleared a space at the center table and carefully wiped it down, scrubbing away coffee stains and grease left behind after a halfhearted wipe by the person in charge of that chore rotation. Then he dried the table and let it air out a bit while he washed his hands and gathered his ingredients.

A light dusting of flour made it down, then another scoop in the middle. Form a well, pour hot water in the middle, and slowly form a dough.

Mindless, repetitive.

Fold the dough and press.

Fold the dough and press.

Scrape the table, put more flour down so it doesn’t stick, fold the dough and press.

He lost himself in that simple motion. A decade ago he might have scoffed at how easy it came to him; two decades ago it might have been his dream, once. Now he could make it with his eyes closed—had actually done so before on a bet while hiding in London.

His palms, scarred and bloodstained and calloused, could still feel the nuances of the dough, could still remember the phantom hands that had once taught him to shape it.

Twisting the dough, he separated it into two ropes and tucked it beneath a clean dishtowel to rest.

There was ground pork in the refrigerator, a forgotten can of water chestnuts in the pantry, and parsley and garlic and green onions in a basket on the counter despite there being better quality vegetables in the community garden. But he didn’t want to bother Bastion so late and these would do fine. Someone had to use them, after all.

The cutting board and ingredients went on the table next to the dough, along with utensils to make and mix the filling. As always it was a struggle to pick up the blade, but this was different than the grip of a  _ katana _ or  _ wakizashi _ .

And the sound was different. Like the rattle of a woodpecker. It was soothing in its own way, and Hanzo had practiced hard to make the same noise, if only so it would bring him back to the serenity of a forest. Shortly after…after Genji, he had hidden like a hermit in the sea of trees surrounding Hanamura with the  _ yūrei _ .

It was the only way that he could bear to pick up a knife.

“If you don’t watch what you’re doing, you’re going to cut your fingers off,” a voice said, shattering the serenity of the forest he had visited in his mind. Hanzo opened his eyes and found Genji, wearing D.Va-branded merchandise, standing with his arms crossed over his chest on the other side of the table.

Scowling, Hanzo looked down and scraped the knife against the cutting board, collecting the neat slices of green onion and running his knife over them again and again and again.

_ Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. Scrape, scrape. Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta. _

Satisfied, Hanzo scooped the onion up and poured it into the bowl. He started on the garlic.

Genji sat and watched, eerily still as Hanzo peeled, smashed, smeared, and effectively turned the garlic into a paste with his knife. Then the parsley. Then the water chestnuts, which turned out to be well within their best-by date despite spending an unknown amount of time in the back of the pantry.

His brother said nothing as Hanzo turned to wash the knife and cutting board, but when Hanzo turned around again he found Genji leaning over the bowl. Genji looked up guiltily as Hanzo returned. “It smells so good. What are you making?”

Hanzo drummed his fingers on the table. In the golden light of the kitchen and the darkness of the community room beyond, it was easy to pretend that the apparition in front of him was only a figment of his imagination.

But when Genji appeared to him as such, it was never in this form.

Deciding not to answer, Hanzo took the bowl back from Genji and poured the ground pork in. He mixed it briskly and added oyster sauce and sugar and soy sauce. Salt. Pepper.

He washed his hands briskly and set the mixture to the side. Found a spoon and a wooden rolling pin and a small paring knife. Cornstarch.

Genji peeked under the dishtowel and frowned at Hanzo. “Hanzo?”

“ _ Gyoza _ ,” he managed to croak. He tugged the dishtowel off the dough and rolled it out. With quick motions he cut little squares of the dough, rolled them into balls, and then put them aside.

“You’re fast at that,” Genji observed. “Holy shit.”

Hanzo swallowed the lump in his throat. Even though he was close to shaking, his hands were steady. They knew the motion and process. In no time there was a neat row of little balls of dough lined up like a small army.

Sprinkle cornstarch.

Roll out.

Stack.

Repeat and repeat and repeat.

“Can I try?” Hanzo’s hands faltered. He looked up at Genji with wide eyes. “Please?”

Swallowing hard, Hanzo stepped aside. If he looked down, only looked at their hands, Hanzo could ignore that this was Genji and that he had done this to his brother’s hands.

In a rough voice he told Genji how to flatten the ball of dough, showed him how to gently roll it out. The first one that Genji tried was unevenly rolled and tore as he tried to pick it up.

Genji laughed and tried again.

And again.

And again.

He demanded that Hanzo prove that it wasn’t just the dough. Hanzo rolled out a perfect sheet, coated it with cornstarch, and tossed it on the stack.

“No fair,” Genji complained. He took the rolling pin from Hanzo and snatched up another ball of dough. “I’m going to do this.”

Hanzo watched as Genji struggled and wondered if it was really as hard as Genji made it seem.

Eventually Genji groaned and scraped up his latest attempt. “I am going to fill them, then,” he said mulishly.

Nodding, Hanzo took the rolling pin back and his hands began moving again.

Sprinkle cornstarch.

Roll out.

Stack.

This time he watched Genji. He gently picked up one of the wrappers that Hanzo had just made and held it in his palm. With his tongue peeking out from between his lips—one flesh and blood, one synthetic—he scooped a comically large helping of the filling into the wrapper.

“No!” Hanzo blurted and Genji stared guiltily at him. “Too much. That is…too much.”

Genji put the entire mess down on the counter and gestured for Hanzo to do it. 

Completely ignoring the one that Genji gestured to, Hanzo picked up another wrapper. Despite his discomfort with the subject of his nightmares so close, his hands still knew the motions.

Line the edges with water.

Squeeze out the air.

Pleat.

The  _ gyoza _ was placed next to the cutting board, the first of many.

Genji huffed. "No fair," he grumbled. "Show me again."

It was an easy routine. Hanzo didn't need to look, but it was better than meeting Genji's eyes, better than letting his thoughts wander to the agony that Genji must have gone through.

Fill.

Line the edges with water.

Squeeze out the air.

Pleat.

"Slower," Genji demanded.

Hanzo swallowed and obeyed. Genji still put too much filling and before he could stop himself, he clicked his tongue and slapped Genji's hand away before he ruined it further. "Too much," he chided.

Grumbling, Genji carefully used the spoon to scoop away some of the filling. Despite his grumbles he still held the dumpling out for Hanzo's inspection before he tried to close it.

It made this version of Genji feel like an imposter. The Genji that Hanzo remembered was always impatient, had always been greedy; he'd always wanted his dumplings too full.

But the set of his face, despite it being covered in scars and half of it being metal and synthetic flesh, was still Genji's. He still had that little furrow between his brows, and his jaw still twisted crookedly as he squinted down at the dumpling in his hand.

"Not a lot, is it?" he asked.

Hanzo shook his head. "No," he said after a moment. "Not a lot at all.”

He showed Genji how to line the edges with water, just a little bit, how to squeeze out the air, how to pleat them. When they were done, two more  _ gyoza _ lay in the row that Hanzo had started. All of Hanzo's appeared almost perfect and uniform; Genji's was lumpy, the wrapping pressed too hard on some of the pleats, some of the folds sloppy and uneven.

But Genji seemed proud of it and looked at Hanzo as if for praise. Hanzo nodded, and Genji beamed. He reached for another wrapper.

"Do you remember when we used to sneak to the kitchen?" Genji asked as he very slowly began to make another dumpling. Hanzo walked back to the other side of the table and began rolling out more of the dumpling wrappers. "Back when we were boys. Before you swallowed a seed and planted a huge stick up your ass."

Hanzo’s hands stilled. “Yes,” he said. He rolled another wrapper out and added it to his pile. 

“Back when we actually acted like brothers and not two strangers who lived in the same house,” Genji continued, as if to rub salt in the wound. “Before you got us kicked out of the kitchen.” 

Surprised, Hanzo looked up. “I did no such thing!” he blurted. 

“No, you totally did,” Genji insisted. His brows furrowed as he thought. “I do not know what you did but I am  _ sure _ that it was your fault.” 

Hanzo swallowed a lump in his throat and looked down. Even after all these years, even knowing that he didn’t need to protect Genji from the truth, it was hard to pull back the veil for him. So he spoke to the dough as he rolled it, his words short and choppy. “Mother ordered noodles for an important meeting. We were playing in the kitchen and you got hungry. You thought that the noodle dough was a sweet bun and tried to eat it. When you tasted the raw flour you threw it on the ground. The cooks could not make another batch of noodles in time.” 

When he gathered the courage to peek up, he found that Genji was frowning. "No," he said. "The elders used to say..." he trailed off, bending his head in through. "They told  _ me _ that you had not behaved properly and so you had ruined our play in the kitchen."

They were silent for a while. Hanzo rolled out more of the dumpling skins while Genji still cupped the half-finished one in his hands as gently as if he held a baby bird.

"Funny thing, is it not?" Genji asked so quietly that Hanzo almost didn't hear him. "How the same event can give us two completely different memories?"

Hanzo made a face and looked down. "It took some thinking," he said slowly. "But it made me wonder. What if that was their intention all along?"

"What do you mean?" Despite the question, Hanzo thought that Genji knew what he was talking about.

He kept his eyes on the table and the ranks of dough balls as they disappeared beneath the steady motions of his rolling pin. " _ Onna-oyabun _ did not have any siblings," he said slowly. "And neither did the  _ oyabun _ before her. They had many cousins but no siblings, no other direct heir. Would it not be better, instead of choosing a single heir and grooming them, to choose between two?

"It didn't work," Genji pointed out. "I never got trained."

Hanzo knew why but didn't say so out loud. Such revelations, drawn after many years of quiet introspection, were for another time.

"But," Genji said with a flourish that threw the half-finished dumpling into the air. He reached over suddenly and placed both hands, one flesh and one metal and synthetic, over Hanzo's. "We are here. You and I are still here. We outlasted them—" he laughed. "—and each other. We are both here."

For a long moment Hanzo stared at their hands. His own, both flesh, tanned and weathered and calloused; Genji's, one as battered as his own and the other scuffed and dented.

Looking past the physical differences, Hanzo realized that Genji was right. Even if they were missing parts or were kept up at night, prevented from sleeping the sleep of the just, they were still there.

They were still alive.

He swallowed and looked up at Genji, whose face was earnest and just as shadowed and scarred, though his scars were far more visible than Hanzo's.

"Yes," Hanzo said slowly.

Ghosts of the past—of a ring of disapproving faces, of beatings and rigorous training, of a father's fervent plea to spare his beloved son the torment of the  _ yakuza _ lifestyle, of faces that had once been streaked with flour and beaming down at the young heirs turning to masks of fear and pain as they knelt before the  _ onna-oyabun _ and begged—disappeared, and for once in his life Hanzo let himself just be.

He smiled but it was a new and fragile thing. Things would not get better right away—that was not how life worked.

As his most respected master once told him, perfection was bought with hours of diligence. All his life he had trained, had disciplined himself for excellence in all that he did.

This would be no different.

So he smiled at his brother. "We are."


	2. We are Both Here (Gyoza)

**Wrapper:** (3” diameter, makes ~30...4-5” diameter, makes ~20)

  * 2 cups flour + extra 
  * 1 tsp salt
  * ¾ cup boiling water
  * Cornstarch for dusting


  1. Mix together salt and flour. 
  2. Very slowly add hot water in short bursts, mixing constantly until it forms a dough--be careful as the dough will be hot from the water. Depending on the humidity you may not even use all of it. 
  3. Mix dough until it comes together in a ball. 
  4. Knead dough for 20-30 minutes until the outside is smooth. 
  5. Slice in half, roll into logs with ~1” diameter, and wrap in plastic wrap. Let rest for 10-20 minutes. 
  6. Slice dough into even pieces and store under damp towel to keep from drying out. 
  7. Dust workstation and rolling pin with cornstarch. Form one piece of cut dough into a ball and roll out until flat. The thinner you roll the dough, the faster and easier it will cook.
  8. Optional: Cut dough into 3-5” rounds with a cookie cutter or drinking glass
  9. Dust both sides of wrapper with cornstarch and store under damp towel until ready to use. Can be stored, sealed, in refrigerator up to a week.



**Filling:** (1 Tbsp, makes ~20-30)

  * ¼ cup chopped green onion
  * 1 lb ground pork or beef
    * For vegan option, can be replaced with minced, sauteed mushrooms or diced firm tofu
  * 6 cloves garlic, minced
  * 4 oz water chestnuts
  * 1 tsp salt
  * 1 Tbsp sugar
  * 1 Tbsp soy sauce
  * 1-2 Tbsp oyster sauce
    * For vegan option, can be replaced with mixture of equal parts soy sauce and sugar 
  * 1 tsp ground black pepper
  * Optional ingredients:
    * 1 tsp ground ginger
    * 1 tsp sesame oil
    * ¼ cup chopped parsley 


  1. Mix ingredients thoroughly. 
  2. Store, covered in refrigerator, until ready for use. Can also be used for stuffed eggplant and other types of dumpling. 



**Assembly & Cooking:**

  * Cooking oil 
  * Large pan with a lid or a piece of aluminum foil
  * Cup of water


  1. Fill wrappers (homemade from recipe above or store-bought) with 1 Tbsp filling (or, using larger wrappers, you can use 2 Tbsp or more). 
  2. Wet the edges of wrapper with a little bit of water. This will act as a sort of glue to hold it shut. 
  3. Fold in half at the middle and gently press shut or pleat toward each corner, squeezing out the excess air as you do so. Too much air in the dumpling means that there will be a chance of bursting while cooking. Store finished dumplings under damp towel to keep from drying out. 
  4. Heat 1 Tbsp oil in pan and add dumplings until bottom is covered. Be careful not to overlap or they will not cook as well. 
  5. When bottom browns, add water (roughly ¼ cup, no more) and cover pan quickly to steam dumplings the rest of the way. You can also remove dumplings from pan and add them to steamer baskets. 
  6. Cook in pan until water has been completely used up and remove dumplings from pan. If they need to be cooked more, return dumplings to heat and add more water to steam. 
  7. Repeat until all dumplings are cooked. 




	3. A Bit of Fun (Story)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a Bit of Fun: After another boring meeting, Team Talon gather to unwind. Doomfist catches them.

“Moira.”

The geneticist held up one slender, almost skeletal finger as she continued to scribble down notes. That she was taking so many was almost suspicious in itself, as there was no real reason for someone to write much down during a finance meeting; that it was _Moira_ of all people writing, ink flowing in elaborate arcs and whorls in a script and cypher she only used for her most important notes was doubly suspicious.

With a final flourish she finished the line and looked up. “Yes?”

If Maximilien had an emotive face, he would have been frowning at her. As it was, he tucked his hands behind his back and straightened his spinal column in disapproval. “We were discussing the budget.”

Moira’s bored expression didn’t change except for the rise of one tawny eyebrow. “Yes? This is one of your ‘team meetings’ where we discuss what we did wrong and how much money we wasted doing it.”

She thought she heard a sound from Sombra but knew that if she turned her head, the imp would look as innocent as the summer sky.

“We were _discussing_ , in particular, _your_ budget, Ms. O’Deorain,” Sanjay Korpal said stiffly. He ignored Reaper and Moira’s chorused correction of “ _Doctor_ ” and the glances the two of them shared in the aftermath. “You can earn your proper title back by explaining why you broke procedure to allocate an unusually high amount of funds to your research.”

This time Moira knew that she heard Sombra’s annoyed _tsk_ and covered it up by tapping and scraping the clawed nails of her right hand against the table.

“When I signed on, Mr. Korpal,” Moira said in a low drawl. “It was with the understanding that I would have all that I needed for my research.”

“And you were to provide regular reports on the status of each project,” Korpal replied immediately. “I have yet to see a report or a proposal, however symbolic, of anything new. The genetic testing and upgrades provided to our soldiers are still the same as ever, and—”

Beads of sweat appeared on Korpal’s face as he cut himself off.

In the seat beside him Reaper looked bored, or as bored as someone could look while wearing a mask that obscured their face.

“Reaper,” Maximilien said sternly, a note of static in his voice. “You overstep.”

“Since we’re talking about signing contracts,” Reaper drawled, sounding just as bored as Moira. “I believe I had a stipulation in mine regarding the treatment of my team.”

Widowmaker wore her best blank expression and sat primly in her seat, but Moira could see the way her purple lips twitched downward as if she wanted to scowl.

“Thank you, darling,” Moria teased, leaning her chin on her left palm and propping that elbow on the table. With her other hand she drew shapes in the air, purplish mist trailing from her fingers like fog. “But I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

With a low, rattling growl Reaper removed his shotgun from of Korpal’s lap and put it down on the table. “It’s not even loaded.”

Moira knew that was a lie but didn’t call him on it. “Yes,” she said with a sly smirk. “But not everyone at the table knows that.”

The meeting stalled for a moment while the Powers That Be struggled to regain control. “Moira,” Maximilien said at last, static spitting through his vocalizer in his quiet rage. “Explain.”

“How do _you_ know if the serums have changed or not?” Sombra challenged. She drummed the tips of her fingers against the table. Despite her challenging tone her body language read _boredom_ and _don’t look at me, I may as well not be here_.

When no one answered, Sombra made a face and sat up, her demeanor turning brisk and businesslike. She tapped her fingers against the table again and drew a screen on its surface. Drawing her hand up, she lifted the glowing square up in front of her and then _pushed_. The screen at the front of the room flickered, turned fuchsia, and showed a word-heavy document broken with complex ball-and-stick models and complicated-looking organic structures.

Flicking her fingers, she scrolled through the document toward a section at the bottom and tapped at the long title. “Maybe my English is a little rusty,” she mocked, deliberately thickening her accent and clicking her tongue sharply on the _t_ , “but doesn’t _this_ line note a section dedicated to the variances between serums and their results in the various test models as well as in preliminary trials run on our esteemed ‘volunteers?’”

She gestured again and the air above the table was filled with more such documents. The screens all lingered on the title page that clearly noted the serum variations and the date of the report before scrolling down to show the same section that Sombra had brought up.

“Or am I the only one that reads these?” Leaning back in her seat, Sombra kicked her feet up on the table. “I find it prudent to know how the cannon fodder might react to a little EMP, considering how pumped up with nanites and genetic whatsits they all are.”

Korpal was outright scowling. Maximilien, though unable to form expressions on his face, looked ready to literally implode. Or perhaps explode and hope that the ensuing shrapnel would kill the wiseasses sitting nearby.

After a long pause, broken only by Moira hissing at Sombra to get her feet off the table, Doomfist spoke up for the first time. “Dr. O’Deorain’s research has proven invaluable in many ways,” he said, looking up from the report he was studiously reading. It was printed on actual paper, and a pair of reading glasses were perched low on his nose. An array of colorful pens and highlighters sat near his elbow. He flicked his eyes up first to Korpal and then to Maximilien. “Neither of you are in charge of asset acquisition or reconditioning, nor are you directly responsible for the reports completed on the allocation of funds for Dr. O’Deorain’s research. As…interested parties you are of course privy to this knowledge—” here he lifted the stack of papers in his hand and waved them demonstratively, “—but you are hardly in charge of signing off on proposals. Sombra.” The woman in question rolled her head to look at him, raising an inquisitive brow. It was as close to snapping to attention as she typically got, and clearly Doomfist had given up on getting anything more formal from her. “Where can these reports be found?”

“They’re public,” Sombra replied and paused just long enough to watch Korpal’s face twist in horror. “Public access in the administrative server. And they are sent out monthly.” 

Moira went back to her notes, listening to the discussion with one ear while she considered her options. Perhaps blueberry juice? Or maybe pomegranate.

_Oh_ , imagine _paprika!_ She didn’t much care for the taste herself and thought that the smoked stuff smelled too much like dog treats, but what a sight that would be. Someone biting in, expecting something sweet, and getting a hit of paprika.

“ _Oy_ ,” Sombra said, and Moira looked up. Korpal and Maximilien had left, and Doomfist was still going over his papers, pointedly ignoring them. Reaper and Widowmaker lingered by the door, clearly ready to leave but still waiting for Moira. “Come on,” Sombra hissed. “Before they call us back.”

“Impatient,” Moira chided halfheartedly as she finished her notes and scrambled to put her things away. Being called back into a meeting was truly a valid fear, especially if Doomfist hit a portion of whatever report he was reading that required a layman’s translation.

Moira honestly wasn’t sure why he even bothered asking her. Perhaps to him all science was the same, or he thought that because she had multiple doctorates and accolades to her name, she understood all of the minutiae of the reports from the very capable quartermasters on base.

That wasn’t fair to Doomfist, though. He was a brilliant strategist and an engineer in his own right. More than once he had assisted her in some of the nuances of mechanical design especially in regards to her equipment, so he _had_ to know that asking her for “translation” was an exercise in futility.

The hilarious thought that perhaps he truly was human and doing it just to annoy her came to mind, and she laughed to herself.

Outside the door to the conference room Reaper dissolved into a puddle of mist that clung to their heels as they walked. “That was quite exhausting, wasn’t it?” Moira mused quietly.

“Hurry up!” Sombra said, bouncing along. “I think we all deserve a treat.”

From somewhere in the dark miasma of nanites, Reaper muttered something in Spanish that Moira knew (but only from context) meant something along the lines of ‘you’re as impatient as a child.’ Sombra rolled her eyes and muttered something back that meant ‘you’re just old.’

“Hurrying will get you nowhere,” Widowmaker said with a sniper’s patience, but her pace was quick and clipped, betraying her own excitement.

The lights caught on the lenses of her mask and Moira paused. Reaper’s cloud of nanites swirled around her ankles. “Blood orange,” she said. “I think it would match you very well. It would be very fitting.”

* * *

The area of her lab that Sombra mockingly called her “Inner-Inner Sanctum” was a hub of activity. Widowmaker’s sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she measured fruit juices and set them in clean Erlenmeyer flasks over a row of Bunsen burners. Beside her Sombra weighed out piles of white powder, and Reaper, unable to feel the heat of the glass or liquid, poured boiling juice into measured bowls of flour and mixed them all by hand. Moira herself shaped the resulting dough, forming long strings in an assortment of bright colors.

They all looked up guiltily when the door opened and Doomfist stepped in. His face was unreadable, but his lips tightened when Widowmaker swore as one of the flasks in front of her began boiling more vigorously than she had intended.

He stepped in quickly and, with his prosthetic hand, plucked it out of the ring stand, holding it at arm’s length. “What are you waiting for?” Moira asked, a sarcastic curl to her lips. “Move it down the line.”

Doomfist seemed oddly perplexed but obeyed, taking the bowl of powder that Sombra offered and following the jerk of her head toward Reaper. His big shoulders made them all readjust their stations, but Reaper solved that by moving over by Moira to cut the colorful strands of dough into small cubes.

“Quickly, before it cools,” Sombra said, clicking her tongue.

Looking back and forth between the dough, the powder, and the flask of still-steaming juice pinched delicately between the fingers of his prosthetic hand, Doomfist said, “Just…pour it in?”

“Yes!” Widowmaker and Sombra said in unison.

“You need to mix it, too,” Widowmaker added a bit snidely. “The dough is hot, but you need to make sure there are no lumps of flour.”

Doomfist eyed the odd texture of the powder in the bowl and the weird way it seemed to stick to the hot liquid as he poured it as instructed. “This is flour?”

“Tapioca flour,” Reaper growled.

Moira clapped her hands, dislodging a fine cloud of dust, and turned to wash her hands in the sink. “I’ll start on the tea,” she announced, and Sombra whooped. “Orders?”

“Surprise me,” Widowmaker said, surprising no one.

Doomfist watched quietly as everyone spoke up, hissing to himself as he tried to knead the dough as quickly as possible to keep from burning his hands. “I am done,” he said.

“Roll it out,” Widowmaker told him, turning off the unused burners.

“I got it,” Reaper said, taking the lump of dough from Doomfist. “Get the next one.”

As Sombra stepped back, she gestured to the last boiling flask. He reached for it with his prosthetic arm, pinching the neck between his fingers as Widowmaker turned off the burner. This time he grabbed the bowl of tapioca powder on his own and started mixing without further prompting.

“Is _this_ where the additional funds have gone?” Doomfist asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the roar of blenders behind him.

“We all have our vices,” Moira said with a laugh.

Kneading the dough, Doomfist watched as Sombra and Widowmaker set up larger burners and beakers of water. Soon they were boiling, and Reaper nudged past, pouring the little dumplings he had cut into the water. They immediately sank. Sombra pulled out a large jar of honey and began portioning it out in a series of little bowls.

“What is all of this?” Doomfist asked. Following Reaper’s example, he began rolling out thin strands of dough.

Reaper peered over. “Too thick,” he grumbled.

“Just a bit of fun,” Moira told Doomfist as she flipped off the blenders. “A bit of a morale boost, if you will.”

Doomfist hummed, dusting his hands off and backing away while the roll of dough was scrutinized. He turned back to Moira. “I think,” he said slowly, “that perhaps I am deserving of one, too.”

Behind him, he heard Sombra and Widowmaker snort. “Only if you don’t rat us out,” Widowmaker told him, something like a smirk on her lips. After a moment of thought Doomfist smiled and mimed zipping his lips shut.

Later, as they all sat down to a well-earned rest and multicolored pitchers of bubble tea, Doomfist leaned back in his chair and said, “That was such a stupid meeting, wasn’t it? I thought Korpal’s face was going to burst like a balloon when Reaper pulled out his shotgun. I almost wished you shot him. All he does is _whine_.”

There was a moment of silence before they all burst into laughter.

“Maximilien was _totally_ about to start spitting sparks,” Sombra added.

“You weren’t close enough to hear his gears grinding,” Doomfist shot back. “I don’t know _how_ you didn’t smell the burning oil.”

Smiling, Moira sipped at her drink as the others continued to chatter amongst themselves. People like them didn’t _do_ families, or at least, not often. Not even found families. 

Nor did they particularly feel the need for them. Moira, at least, preferred to work alone, but it’s funny how things change. She sipped her drink. Now she had a team that wasn’t completely incompetent and a boss that...well, he was bearable at least. 

All in all it could be worse. 

A voice from the past seemed to whisper in her ear. “ _Bone-a sera signora, can I-a getchu-a somethin’ to drink?_ ”

Much worse.


	4. Just a Bit of Fun (Recipe)

**Boba Pearls:**

  * ½ cup tapioca flour + extra
  * 2 ¼ cup boiling water
  * Honey (for storage)



  1. Pour ¼ cup _boiling_ water into tapioca flour
  2. Mix until combined in a dough. Be careful as it will be hot from the water. 
  3. Roll out into long, thin rolls. With a sharp knife slice into small cubes. 
  4. Roll each cube between your hands to form a ball
  5. Boil in 2 cups of water until they float to the surface, about 2 minutes. 
  6. Store in honey to keep boba from sticking together 



* * *

##  Widowmaker

###  Boba:

  * ½ cup tapioca flour + extra
  * 2 ¼ cup boiling sakura tea
  * Red food coloring (optional)
  * Honey (for storage)



  1. Brew sakura tea _strong_.
  2. Remove ¼ cup of boiling tea and mix into tapioca flour. Mix with spoon until cool enough to handle. Knead until smooth, dusting hands with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  3. Roll dough into a log shape and cut into sizes. Toss with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  4. Bring remaining sakura tea to hard boil. 
  5. Toss in tapioca pearls and boil until pearls rise. Reduce to simmer and continue to cook for another minute (at least). 
  6. Remove floating tapioca pearls with slotted spoon and toss in honey to coat. The honey will keep them from sticking to each other. 



###  Tea base:

  * 1 cup frozen blackberries and blueberries
  * 1 ½ cup almond milk
  * 1 tsp honey



  1. Blend all ingredients together until smooth. 
  2. Strain through a sieve to get rid of the chunks of skin and seeds. 



**Assembly**

  * ¼ cup base
  * ¼ cup strong-brewed sakura tea, cooled
  * Almond milk to taste
  * Boba pearls



  1. Mix base and tea in cup. 
  2. Add almond milk to taste 
  3. Add boba pearls



* * *

##  Doomfist 

###  Boba:

  * ½ cup tapioca flour + extra
  * ¼ cup boiling water
  * 2 cups boiling water + a few drops of almond extract
  * Almond extract
  * Honey (for storage)



  1. Boil ¼ cup water and add a few drops of almond extract. 
  2. Pour boiling water into tapioca flour and mix with spoon until cool enough to handle. Knead until smooth, dusting hands with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  3. Roll dough into a log shape and cut into sizes. Toss with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  4. Bring remaining water to hard boil. 
  5. Toss in tapioca pearls and boil until pearls rise. Reduce to simmer and continue to cook for another minute (at least). 
  6. Remove floating tapioca pearls with slotted spoon and toss in honey to coat. The honey will keep them from sticking to each other. 



###  Tea base:

  * [Rooibos vanilla chai tea](https://www.adagio.com/chai/rooibos_vanilla_chai.html). Received as a sample after ordering something else at Adagio Teas.
  * Add 1 cup boiling water to 3-5 tsp of loose tea. Let steep. 



**Assembly**

  * 1 cup cool rooibos tea
  * Almond milk to taste
  * Boba pearls



  1. Mix tea in cup. 
  2. Add almond milk to taste 
  3. Add boba pearls



* * *

##  Moira:

###  Boba:

  * ½ cup tapioca flour + extra
  * ¼ cup blueberry and/or blackberry juice
  * ¼ cup pineapple juice
  * 2 cups boiling water
  * Purple food coloring (optional)
  * Yellow food coloring (optional)
  * Honey (for storage)



  1. Boil ¼ cup blueberry and/or blackberry juice. 
  2. Add a drop of purple food coloring (optional) and add to ½ cup tapioca flour. Mix with spoon until cool enough to handle. Knead until smooth, dusting hands with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  3. Roll dough into a log shape and cut into sizes. Toss with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  4. Boil ¼ cup pineapple juice. 
  5. Add three drops of yellow food coloring (optional) and add to ½ cup of tapioca flour. Mix with spoon until cool enough to handle. Knead until smooth, dusting hands with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  6. Roll dough into a log shape and cut into sizes. Toss with tapioca flour to keep from sticking.
  7. Bring water to hard boil. 
  8. Toss in tapioca pearls and boil until pearls rise. Reduce to simmer and continue to cook for another minute (at least). 
  9. Remove floating tapioca pearls with slotted spoon and toss in honey to coat. The honey will keep them from sticking to each other. 



###  Coffee base:

Moira’s “tea” is based on coffee. It is a cold-brewed coffee but I used what I had in my apartment...in this case it was a holiday blend called “vanilla pecan”. The coffee can be whatever you like. 

  * 3-5 Tbsp ground coffee of choice
  * 1 cup water



  1. Mix ingredients together in a sealable bottle. 
  2. Leave in refrigerator for at least 3 days, shaking daily. 
  3. Strain through a coffee filter. 



**Assembly**

  * ½ cup cold-brewed coffee
  * Almond milk to taste
  * Boba pearls



  1. Mix coffee and add almond milk to taste 
  2. Add boba pearls



* * *

##  Sombra

###  Boba:

  * ½ cup tapioca flour + extra
  * ¼ cup blueberry and/or blackberry juice
  * 2 cups boiling water
  * Purple food coloring (optional)
  * Honey (for storage)



  1. Boil ¼ cup blueberry and/or blackberry juice. 
  2. Add a drop of purple food coloring (optional) and add to ½ cup tapioca flour. Mix with spoon until cool enough to handle. Knead until smooth, dusting hands with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  3. Roll dough into a log shape and cut into sizes. Toss with tapioca flour to keep from sticking.
  4. Bring remaining water to hard boil. 
  5. Toss in tapioca pearls and boil until pearls rise. Reduce to simmer and continue to cook for another minute (at least). 
  6. Remove floating tapioca pearls with slotted spoon and toss in honey to coat. The honey will keep them from sticking to each other. 



###  Juice base:

  * 1 cup strawberry-guava juice
  * ½ cup almond milk 
  * Honey to taste



**Assembly**

  * Glass of juice base above
  * Boba pearls



* * *

##  Reaper 

###  Boba:

  * ½ cup tapioca flour + extra
  * ¼ cup boiling water
  * 2 cups boiling water 
  * Honey (for storage)



  1. Bring ¼ cup water to boil. 
  2. Pour boiling water into tapioca flour and mix with spoon until cool enough to handle. Knead until smooth, dusting hands with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  3. Roll dough into a log shape and cut into sizes. Toss with tapioca flour to keep from sticking. 
  4. Bring remaining water to hard boil. 
  5. Toss in tapioca pearls and boil until pearls rise. Reduce to simmer and continue to cook for another minute (at least). 
  6. Remove floating tapioca pearls with slotted spoon and toss in honey to coat. The honey will keep them from sticking to each other. 



###  Tea base:

  * Lapsang souchong (smoked black tea)
  * Add 1 cup boiling water to 3-5 tsp of loose tea. Let steep. 



**Assembly**

  * 1 cup cool lapsang souchong tea
  * Almond milk to taste
  * Boba pearls



  1. Mix tea in cup. 
  2. Add almond milk to taste 
  3. Add boba pearls




	5. Spiced Apple Cider (Recipe)

  * 1 gallon apple cider 
  * 1 apple
    * Recommend: green/granny smith, fuji, or honeycrisp
  * 3-5 whole cinnamon sticks
  * 1 orange, rind peeled into long strips
  * 3-5 pieces dried star anise 
  * 5-10 whole cloves
  * (optional) 1 small piece fresh ginger


  1. In large crock pot, add apple cider. 
  2. De-stem and core apple. Slice very thin and add to apple cider in crock pot.
  3. Add cinnamon sticks and star anise to crock pot. 
  4. Using a sharp knife, very carefully peel the orange to keep the peel in strips as long as possible. Recommended to peel in a spiral. 
  5. Carefully “stud” the orange peel with the whole cloves by pressing them, pointed side first, into the orange part of the rind. Place rind and clove “studs” into crock pot. 
  6. Turn crock pot on to “Low” for half an hour then reduce to “Keep Warm”. Taste and adjust spices as desired. 
  7. Serve warm. 



Optional:

  * Using a spoon, peel off the skin from the ginger. Slice very thin and add one or two small slices to the apple cider. Keep in mind that fresh ginger is a very strong spice--a little goes a very long way. 
  * Mix with whiskey or rum if desired



**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this despite the way the overall zine turned out. I hope you enjoy this as well. 
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


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